


Self Care

by chsug0



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Self-Harm, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23598523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chsug0/pseuds/chsug0
Summary: You find a way to spite the most beautiful student at Night Raven College.
Relationships: Vil Schoenheit/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 91





	Self Care

“Ahh,” a despondent sound leaves your mouth as you gaze upon the large mirror in front of the sink. “I’ve done it now.”

The pair of scissors rattles in your dominant hand, threatening to slip out of your grasp. Fear settles in faster and faster upon realization. What would he say? What would he do? 

Locks of your hair scatter the bathroom’s floor and sink. In your reflection, the locks left on your head are uneven and choppy, as to reflect your distress. There are thin red slits below your hairline to show where you desperately reached for any untouched strand of hair, hell, some skin in your scalp could be bleeding! 

It wasn’t enough, though. You could do more damage than this. The burning wasn’t enough, and the aching didn’t match what pounding migraines your lover left after every lecture. Insults and criticism over your physical appearance has driven you to a manic state. And he had the gall to call it “love”.

How did you allow this to happen? Did you really believe he loved you? Was one little fix enough for you to get just as addicted to looks as he was? It couldn’t be! He was far worse than you! 

Yet he wouldn’t let you go. Constantly denying his help, he helped you anyway, even if it meant dragging you all the way through the hall of mirrors and to the Pomefiore dormitories. If he couldn’t find you, he’d send Rook to hunt you down, and he never fails to do so. 

_ “Try this shade of eyeshadow— it’ll bring out your eyes!” _

_ “This lipstick will make you look so kissable!” _

_ “Let me do your hair. It’s so messy!” _

_ “Come here and take a photo with me. I’ll make it my post for today.”  _

_ “Darling, you’re absolutely stunning, you know that?”  _

And your hair… he said it to be the most striking part of your visage. He was extremely cautious with what products he used and how he applied it. Today would be the last day you allowed him to see it, though. You huff as the scissors near your face to complete the damage you started. 

  
  


A creak echoes through the room as the lights are dimmed down and most of the light radiates from a crack in the door to the dormitory bathroom. Vil squints his eyes as he adjusts to the lighting as he increases the brightness of the room. The silence leaves him wary as he peers around the room for his dear lover. The made bed was empty, the desk was cleared off of any school assignments, and the clothes that were strewn across the floor this morning were picked up and folded in your dresser. 

He called out once, dropping his books on your bed, before advancing to the bathroom. He called out again before knocking on the door frame and pushing open the door lightly. His breath hitched at the sound of small whimpers and pants as he finally pushed the door wide open. 

“A-Are you--!?” His breath nearly ceased.

The sight of your choppy locks appalled him, but he still couldn’t see your face which was hidden behind your arms hooked around your knees. He fell to your level to push back the hair that was left, sighing about the work to be done. You scoffed as you willingly brought up your face, your weary red eyes meeting his astonished violet ones. 

His fingers danced over the bloody streaks and slits on your cheeks, and you flinched at the feeling of his fingers touching your open wounds. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Vil,” you sobbed as you tried to pull away his hands. “I can’t take it-- I can’t!”

“You... did this?” Vil questioned with disbelief. He knew what you had done. It wasn’t the work of other Pomefiore students, but instead it was you. 

“Your stupid ideals! Your relentless pursuit for perfection!” You grabbed his wrists, increasing pressure as you went on “This isn’t what I want, and you won’t listen!” 

“I’ll keep causing damage and put it in a way you’ll understand,” you hiss, releasing one of his hands to reach for the pair of scissors hidden at your side. That same hand clasps around the handle as you force the bladed end to your eye. 

Yet the impact never came. 

One moment you were one step away to achieving the closest thing to freedom, and next you’re on the cold tiled floor face-down with your hands being crushed by an untouchable force. Your head is pounding, your body reacting with cold sweat as you attempt to shake off whatever is holding you down. You try to yell out, but it only results in a pathetic huff. Only then did you realize that your body wasn’t following the commands of your brain. 

“A mild poison, darling,” Vil described as he kicked the makeshift weapon from your hand. “Your breath will still, and your blood will soon congeal.” 

“My magic can only do so much for you, and frankly, I’m disappointed you went along and did this,” he continued. “It seems as though I’ll have to make sure you can’t harm that beautiful appearance of yours again.” 

He hooks his arms below your waist as he lifts you up. Your hearing and vision can no longer register your surroundings as you fell into a deep pit of unconsciousness. 

“But don’t worry, my love, leave it to me. Just a little effort and I’ll make you beautiful again.”

  
  
  
  



End file.
